


On The Shore I Stand Alone

by prosepoet



Series: Where We Love [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Other, Steve Feels, Steve Needs a Hug, Thor Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 17:01:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1786528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosepoet/pseuds/prosepoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or the five times someone tried to talk Steve out of looking for Bucky and the one time someone encouraged him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Shore I Stand Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fic here on AO3 and honestly I don't know if I'm saying that as a qualifier or an introduction.  
> Either way, I hope you like this, I wrote it for a prompt and it blossomed into a lot more that i thought i would so...yea. 
> 
> anyway the title is from John Keats, When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be
> 
> When I have fears that I may cease to be  
> Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,    
> Before high-piled books, in charactery,    
> Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;    
> When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,    
> Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,    
> And think that I may never live to trace  
> Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;  
>  And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,    
> That I shall never look upon thee more,    
> Never have relish in the faery power  
> Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore    
> Of the wide world I stand alone, and think    
> Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

One.

 “You’re crazy man,” Clint said, sitting on the couch in Steve Rogers’ D.C apartment, after Steve had briefed him on what exactly had gone down while he was on assignment in the middle east. “You’re really going after him?”

“I have to…he would do the same for me.”  Clint’s chuckle is more disbelief that humor.

“If you say so man…but the most top secret government spy organization was infiltrated by the most top secret evil spy organization and there’s a shit show going on here…maybe…you know, maybe you should take some time until things work themselves out.”

“Thanks, Clint. But I don’t have time to take.”

__________ 

Two.

 “Man you know our leads have been getting weaker and weaker…”

Steve slowed his run to a trot before stopping completely and looking at Sam to his side. It was barely 7 am, and they were coming up on the end of their morning run. (Sam still couldn’t quite keep up with Steve, but since his speed and stamina had increased over the past few months, Steve tried to pace himself as much as possible, staying at least within earshot of the slighter man.) But now, instead of light and casual per usual, Sam’s voice was strained with caution. If they were going to talk business, Steve found it necessary to stop. 

“Yea, things have been kind of slow.” He admitted. They’d been monitoring the greater D.C area for any leftover Hydra agents, figuring it would be best to watch for movement from afar until things stabilized. It may have been easier to dismantle a disorganized site, but it was more likely one would gain valuable intel when Hydra wasn't prepared to run at any moment...if they were ever not ready to run at any moment. The few leads they’d gotten recently—a few updates from Jarvis on suspicious encounters throughout the city and the occasional call from Phil about his current whereabouts in his separate pursuit of Hydra—hadn’t been anything substantial. “But I don’t think Hydra would just let their best asset go.”

“Yea.” Steve looked at Sam for a second before grabbing his water bottle from under a tree. He pondered a plan of action as he took a careful sip, deciding diversion would probably be the best. 

“Let’s go get breakfast…there’s that pancake place, what’s it called?”

“Ihop?”

“Yea, you like that right?” 

“Yea—” 

“Okay then, we can—”

“Steve.”

“Yea?” 

“Aren’t you starting to wonder?” 

“About what, man?” 

“About whether he’s really out there.”

“C’mon Sam of course he’s out there—”

 “If he’s out there where you can find him.”

 “Look Sam I know—”

“I’m just saying its starting to seem a little grim, Cap. We’ve got nothing to go on. No sign of him anywhere. Hydra’s quiet…maybe its time to…you know...” Steve looked at Sam, down at his own hands, and then back at Sam again. He forced a smile, warm only around the edges and clapped Sam’s shoulder. Diversion was his plan and he would stick to it.

“Givin’ up so soon, soldier? If you insist, let’s take today off, go get those pancakes…whaddya say?” Sam sighed, jerking his head in a slight nodding motion.

“Whatever you say, boss," A pause, "but you’re buying!”

Steve laughed, forcing down the idea of what Sam had mentioned. Refusing to think about the fact that Bucky could be lost forever.

____________

Three.

“It’s been six months. He’s in the wind, Steve.” 

Steve hadn’t been in the lobby of the Avenger’s tower long enough for the winter’s frosty bite to release its grasp on his flushed cheeks before he ran into Natasha. She was perched on the desk about six feet away where, during a normal the day, there would be a blonde receptionist with perfectly coifed hair and manicured nails taking phone calls and forwarding e-mails. However, it wasn’t day. It was precisely 1:27 a.m Eastern Daylight Time and 9 hours ago it had been precisely 10:27 p.m Central European Time and he’d been in a German Airport waiting to board a plane back to the states. Now, he was exhausted from jet lag, achy after being crammed in his economy class seat, hungry because he’d been so preoccupied that he’d forgotten to eat, and, to top it all off, exasperated because though all he wanted to do was head to his floor for a long shower and even longer sleep, Natasha was sitting in the lobby wearing an expression that obviously meant business.

With a sigh he mustered up the energy—the courage, if he was honest—to question, “Look, Nat…Can’t we talk about this tomorrow?” 

He knew the answer would be no. Her statement had said it all: the whisper of empathy and the lingering indication of compassion in her word choice coupled with the sternness and hint of impatience in her voice said all he needed to know, ‘I understand, but I need _you_ to understand.’

“I know he’s your friend,” She started, confirming his earlier prediction, “But you can’t just hop on a plane to Germany following a questionable lea--” 

“The lead wasn’t questionable.” He stated firmly. “I had to follow my gut.”

“Even Sam didn’t trust your gut this time, and he’s been following you around like a loyal puppy throughout all of this.”

 “He…what?” She was right, at least about Sam’s loyalty. He’d had no reservations about helping Steve, in fact he’d volunteered and followed Steve dutifully as he chased every lead he could come upon. He’d had Steve’s back in New Jersey, where they’d dismantled an underground weapons distributor loosely connected with Hydra. He’d agreed to go with Steve to Nevada, when they’d gotten word that there was a Hydra facility hidden out in the desert. He’d sat with Steve on Steve’s floor of the tower, sifting through files—paper and electronic—eating cold pizza, drinking warm beer, and looking for anything that would give so much as an inkling as to where The Winter Soldier could be. Each time they’d come up empty handed, Sam had clapped Steve on the shoulder and said “Don’t worry about it man. We’ll find him.” 

But when Steve had told Sam he was headed to Berlin because he’d gotten word that some Hydra higher-ups relocated there from Russia after the SHEILD files were leaked, Sam had given him a weak smile and said he needed to go home for a bit. He’d told Steve that his sister’s birthday was coming up and she would never forgive him if he missed it. Steve had understood, of course, and encouraged him to go be with his family. But now Natasha was saying... “You’re saying Sam was lying?”

“I’m saying that I checked and his sister’s birthday is in June.”

 “He wouldn’t—”

 “He’s worried about you Steve, and so am I. When you heard about Germany you didn’t even give him the opportunity process or question, you just decided you were going on the first flight out. You can’t just ask someone to fly halfway across the globe chasing an empty lead on a whim.” 

 “It wasn’t an empty lead.” He insisted, less stern than before.

But she was right (again), at least about his hastiness. At first, he’d done things methodically, taking the time to look over files and maps, consulting Jarvis for facts and details and Clint or Natasha for intel on specific groups or specific information on certain locations. He’d had a loose plan of action or at least a clear idea of what he was dealing with before he entered any new location or situation. But he’d been growing ansty, he could feel it in his bone. Bucky was _out there._ He could be lost—starving, disoriented, and hiding in alley ways and cheap motels—he could be hurt—in need of surgery on his prosthetic arm or in withdrawal from whatever drugs Hydra had him on—or worst of all, Hydra could have him—they could be…hurting him, torturing him, wiping his memories, doping him up. They could even be planning to kill him, but Steve tried his hardest not to think about that particular possibility. Instead, he’d gone into “action” mode: get a lead and follow it, figure out the specifics on the way or when you get there. Going in blind, it was a bad leadership and it was dangerous and…well, it wasn’t completely out of character but now that he thought about it, he understood why Sam probably hadn’t wanted to follow him.

“He’s a ghost, Steve. He’s been a weapon for Hydra almost as long as your were under and if no one could find him then, when he was a threat to any and everyone with any sort of leverage or power, you won’t find him now.”

“Maybe that’s the case.” He sighed, lifting the small duffel bag he’d been carrying over his shoulder and heading towards the elevator. “But I have to keep trying.”

  ___________________

 Four.  

“Maybe…Maybe it’s time you…slow down a bit.”

Steve sat on bar stool at the island in the kitchen of the ‘family floor,’ sleeve rolled up to the elbow while Bruce Banner prodded at the purpleing bruise surrounding the open wound on his forearm. Steve was essentially invincible and rarely made trips to medical after an op. However, this particular ‘op’ he’d ran into some Hyrda-experiment-gone-wrong animalistic super-human. It…for there was no other pronoun besides “it” for such a creature…had taken a hefty chuck out of Steve’s forearm with it’s teeth before it ultimately self-destructed, too unstable to survive the stress and adrenaline of combat.

He thinks about how close he’d been. He’d found someone who actually knew about the Red Room, who’d known—even if he hadn’t been directly involved—about The Winter Soldier and what Hydra had done to him. The man could have led him in a better direction, gave him intel that would find Bucky if Hydra had him. Instead, after he’d gotten Steve’s hopes up from the dusty basement they’d been buried in, he smiled twistedly and pulled a little pill out of his pocket. When Steve launched at him, to knock the pill away, he triggered a device that let the beast-human out of its cage. In the end, all he’d left with was two dead bodies.

 He had been stupid. He hadn’t even seen the triggering device on the wall, though he should have noticed it. He was so caught up in the fact that he had finally found something substantial that he hadn’t paid close attention to the man, his actions, his body language, his willingness to provide basic but useless information—that the Red Room exists and not where it was, that _Hydra_ had created The Winter Soldier but not how they did it. Steve should have known there was something up. He shouldn’t have been caught off guard. He was slipping, letting his desperation get the best of him.

 And thus, Bruce was bandaging up the results of his carelessness because even though his speedy healing would see the wound closed and his forearm perfectly healthy in three quarters of the time it would take for an average human, he didn’t want to walk around with a gaping hole in his arm for the next few days. Only now, Bruce had the quiver of hesitation in his voice and it wasn’t because he was unsure of how to go about stitching Steve up. His eyes were soft and sympathetic as he looked up briefly from Steve’s arm to make eye contact. 

“I don’t really think that’s necessary.” _Lies_. Steve was tired and he definitely needed to ‘slow down a bit’. He stayed up at night dragging his fingers through his hair, pacing the floor, and remembering Bucky’s face as he’d fallen from the train. or the helicarrier. or both, sometimes he confused the two. When he wasn’t wracked with guilt and memory, he threw himself into the search physically and mentally until his body ached and his head swam and he returned to the tower only to stay up another night dragging his fingers through his hair, pacing the floor, and remembering Bucky’s face.

Bruce placed the tool he was using carefully back in the roll up casing that was on the island, grabbing the gauze to cover Steve’s wound. “I know it’s not really my place but, I mean, I guess I know a bit about…you know…making peace with situations and things and maybe…”

 “I appreciate the sentiment, Doctor Banner, but I don’t think there’s anything I would need to make peace with.” _Lies._ It’s been ten months now and there are plenty of things he should probably begin to accept. That he isn’t going to see Bucky again. That he has lost him, again. That he was right there and he fell through Steve’s fingers, again. That Bucky may be dead…again.

 The doctor grabbed the self-adhesive tape, wrapping it around to keep the gauze in place. “Why don’t you…I was going to have some tea. You should hang around.” A pause. “There are stages, stages of grief, Steve. Denial is often the hardest to get through in cases like these, and I know some great books and techniques by other doc--”

Steve stands after noticing halfway through the doctor’s sentence that his arm is all bandaged and there is nothing stopping him from leaving.

“Thanks, Doctor Banner, but I’m not grieving.”   _Lies._

 _________

Five. 

 “Hey Capsicle think I could borrow your super strength? I would use the suit but Pepper’s got this rule about using the suit for purposes that aren’t strictly saving the world, it’s a stupid rule but she insists and I guess its ok since dummy gets all trigger-happy with the fire extinguisher when the suit comes out in the lab—I think it’s the red and gold maybe. Brucie could help but it’s probably not worth the property damage. Then again, I wouldn’t _really_ mind but Bruce has this thing about hulking out and Pepper says gaping holes in the walls of the tower are bad PR so I gues—”  Tony looked up from his tablet and glanced at Steve, surprised that his babbling hadn’t yet been interrupted, and realized the lights in the common room were low.

“Cap? Jarvis get the lights, would you? Man why are you sitting in the dar- oh. Oh.”

Steve had heard Tony approach the doorway of the common room, but he’d been too lost in thought to bother with listening to what he was saying. When the lights bumped up from the low setting he’d requested Jarvis set them to, he cringed internally at their brightness, but still paid no attention to Tony. It had been a year. There was no sign of The Winter Soldier. No sign of Bucky. He’d dropped off the face of the earth, it seemed. Steve sat on the couch, holding in his hand a picture of Bucky. He was standing on Steve’s right while Steve dictates something war-related to the Howling Commandos. There aren’t any specifics in the picture, no way to tell what mission it was, what country they were in, what or who they were about to face. Steve knows those details aren’t important anyway, no matter where they were or who they were facing, Bucky was always right there, ready to fight by his side. 

The picture is torn from a book, Tony speculates, some sort of biographical text. Steve has his head angled down, but Tony can’t tell whether he is actually looking at the picture, or whether he’s looking through it. At this point, he’s surprised the super soldier can even hold his eyes open. Sure, the serum hides all the normal wear and tear, but there’s no mistaking a sleep-deprived man in emotional distress. Tony has been there enough times to know the look by heart. Dejected eyes, scruffy unshaved face, oily unwashed hair, slumped posture. He can practically feel the disappointment seeping from Steve’s body and hanging stiffly in the air.

“Cap, man you look like _shit_. I wonder if this is what I look like when Pepper comes and drags me out of the lab after three days. I bet it is, that’s why she's always so disgusted. Not that you look disgusting, I’m sure you’re _clean…_ Well, I’m not positive, you look like you could use a shower, but I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt...but really Cap, you look like shit. What’s up?”

Steve was vaguely aware of Tony saying something to the effect of ‘you look like shit” but he ignored him. He knew what he looked like. He’d gotten back from another wild goose chase a few hours ago and rather than stew in his room, or in the shower as he really should have, he’d made a beeline for the kitchen and poured himself a glass of Tony’s nice scotch. He knew where it was because Tony, knowing he couldn’t get drunk, had mentioned it while in one of his babbling talkative moods. Still, even though the alcohol didn’t affect him in the way he’d like, the brown liquid had felt good as it burned on its way down, warming his throat and bringing his mind back to the present. He’d poured himself another glass and plopped down onto the couch, dirt smeared across his cheek, hair untamed and unwashed, scars and scratches rapidly healing on his face and forearms. From his pocket he produced the picture he’d torn out of a magazine that had ran a special on his discovery. He sighed. It had been an entire year.

“ _Yoohoooo_ , earth to Captain Absent, you with me there, buddy?” Tony flopped down on the couch beside Steve and plucked the picture from his hands. “This is you, back in the glory days, right?” 

Steve plucked the picture back, folded it neatly, and placed in back in the pocket of his jeans. “Yea, I guess you could say that.”

“Miss those days? I know I wouldn’t, I can’t imagine the technology I mean ugh, the limited resources would have be awful.” 

“Yea, Tony, the resources were pretty awful” Steve forced a huff of breath, his best attempt at a chuckle, “but we were supposed to have flying cars by now, so the future isn’t so great really.” 

“What do you mean? All this modern tech and you’re moping over a flying car?!” 

“Don’t get me wrong, Tony, the future…I mean now, the present, its great. I’m just saying...”

“Oh _come_ _on_ old man, cut us some slack! We’ve been doing other things like eradicating Jim Crow racism and developing life-saving medical techniques. You know we basically _cured polio—_ did you know that? and you’re upset about a flying car. ‘Virtuous man’ my ass, that’s just ungrateful.”  Steve ‘chuckled’ again, the same lifeless push of air between his lips. _No flying cars_ , he thought, _and no Bucky._ “This is about your friend, The Winter Contraband, isn’t it?”

“Isn’t everything these days?” Steve sighed reluctantly. He liked Tony. Tony wasn’t serious like everyone else, all business or caution or solemnity, he was just…well he was just Tony. He talked a lot, mostly to hear his own voice, and it was distracting if one chose to pay attention. Best of all, Tony didn’t push things like Nat or Sam or Bruce. He just threw jokes around the subject until his point somehow got across.

 “Mhm. You know I’m not saying you should give up. Pepper tries to get me to give up on things all the time its absurd its like…she doesn’t even _believe_ in me or something.” Tony laughs. “Would you believe that? Man you should have seen her that time I gave the Mandarin our address she was…lets just say I was in the proverbial doghouse for a while there, I mean until it was destroyed with our actual house and everything.”

“That’s not absurd. Tony, that was actually foolish.” Steve shook his head.

“Yea well at the time I thought I could do anything. Mostly because I was frustrated that some dickwad was hogging TV airtime ranting about his stupid plans and the media was eating my ass for no reason after I’d just had a fucking panic whatever in public not long before and the doc says it was probably a lot of the _anxiety_ …” Tony shivers, “ still hate that word… but either way I was damn sure that I was right and I wasn’t really sure I was wrong until it was certain that I was wrong…”

“What are you trying to say, Tony?”

 “Nothing! Nothing, look I’m just saying we all have things we don’t want to let go of, trust me I’ve got a list of them downstairs in the lab hidden from Pepper—and Bruce, too, because he can be a weaseling little snitch when he’s trying to get in Pepper’s good graces, she offers him that Indian herbal tea and he sings like a canary. But I mean, anyway, you know sometimes…you save yourself a lot of hell if you let go.”

 “Thanks Tony.” Steve pondered Tony’s words, giving the ‘quit searching’ advice serious consideration for the first time. He reached to the side table for his drink, lifting the glass to his lips as he began to sort through his thoughts.

“No proble—wait, Steve, _what is in that glass_? Is that my good scotch? My most expensive scotch? My one of a kind I probably wont be able to get any of this for like fifty more years scotch?! I was saving that for special occasion…what…how…why would you? _Man!_ You can’t even fully enjoy the Scotch experience…” Tony continued ranting and Steve stopped listening again, as lost in his head as he was when Stark first entered the room.

__________

 

 

“Brothers and Sisters at arms! It pleases my heart to reunite with you once again.” Thor’s voice rumbled through the tower as he stepped into the kitchen. The team, expecting his arrival, had gathered in the kitchen spreading various dishes cooked by each Avenger—and each honorary Avenger, namely Sam, Pepper, Jane, and Darcy—around the table. “and what joy, a feast!”

“It’s not exactly a ‘feast,’” Jane starts.. 

“It’s a potluck!” Darcy finishes. “Everyone cooks a signature dish or something and brings it to share.” Thor’s face looks as though he’s generally accepting of the notion, though it seems a bit odd.  While the commotion continues in the kitchen, everyone moving around one another to add finishing touches to their prepared dishes, move things to the table, or pull things out of the oven and fridge, Steve stands at the window in the common area, looking out over the city. Its been fifteen months. He’s stopped searching. He feels empty inside.

 “Captain!” Thor booms as he approaches him. “Will you not join the others and I for the feast—the pot…luck?” Steve smiles a bit at Thor’s error.

“I will. My casserole is done already. I was just…taking a look at the view.” With a few steps, Thor is standing beside Steve in the window, looking out over Manhattan.

“Ah yes, the city of New York. It does no deed to the beauty of Asgard, but I can see why you admire it. It is your home.”

 “Yea.” Steve murmurs.

 “Jane tells me you seek a friend from your days at war? He has returned, yes?”

 “Yea…It’s complicated. He’s alive… or he was alive…I don’t know. I was looking for him, but I stopped a few months ago.” 

 “Hm.” Steve notices that Thor looks…pensive. Steve had begun to assume that Thor was surprised he wouldn’t need to talk Steve out of continuing his search, and returned his gaze to the window. “I assume then, that perhaps the view is not of home, after all.”

 "You…what?”

“Home is not just the land for which one dutifully takes vows to defend, or where he thankfully rests his head after battle. It is where the most treasured memories gather. I think back to when my brother, in his foolishness, fell from the bi-frost. I looked out over Asgard admiring it’s beauty, hoping to find that which had been missing since his assumed death. I could not. For with him he’d taken the memories of our childhood, the time we played together as boys and fought together as young men, his sly smile and his trickery." Thor smiled at the memory. "Asgard was not truly my home without the presence of my brother, as he was also home for me.” 

Steve blinks. “Is this…is this like the Asgardian version of that saying ‘home is where the heart is?’”

Thor’s laugh is hearty.

“I suppose this is true, Captain. As I now find a home here on earth in the presence of my dear Jane and our valiant team of warriors.  What you seek is not just a friend you lost many years ago, Captain. I fear that what you are searching for, what was found to you briefly, is a home. This century is not one that is familiar to you, much like this world is unfamiliar to me. However, it is the love and companionship that grounds me here. You need your dear friend not simply for want, but for you are but a stranger in a foreign land without the familiarity—the memories that make a home.”

Steve’s lips part, searching for the words, the appropriate response to the easy way Thor, a demi-god from an entirely different world, has reached into the deepest depths of his soul and verbalized everything he’s felt for the last 15 months.

“Have heart, my good brother, grow not weary. My brother attacked your world, knowing that I had taken allegiance with your people. While he may say he did it for the power, I know as he does that there was a part of him that wanted to be found, to come home. Fear not, your friend likely seeks home as much as you do, as much as I and as much as Loki. With patience and consistency, I assure you will both find it.”

Thor clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder and turned to give him a wide smile, sincere and hopeful. “And now, let us feast!”


End file.
